Another Sunday night
spent sleepless,
not dreaming
the fairytale fantasies
of my tortured soul,
unable to divert
the conscious thought
into surreal dreams,
until the crack of dawn
like a hypnotists cue
sends me into deep slumber.
Ten minutes of restful bliss
interrupted by an angry alarm
that tells me –
Today is Monday.
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Riding on the Elastic Firecracker bus I am taking the magical mystery tour of the nineties. Come on along, hop on aboard, see what the noise is all about. Cut your strings, free your inside out, revel in the revelations of the Tripping Daisy. The perennial high hides in my mind; to the cat eye…
You see a homeless bum, when you look at me incapable of love, living on the street. A fallen man living off your trash A lazy buggar begging a buck I scare your wife on her Sunday drive You tell your kids ‘be good or you’ll be like him’. But it’s you, your kind –…
I sensed you were near but I could not see you, I could not hear you, the warmth of your hug did not stir my soul, your insight into the human condition did not engage me – that day. Still, something, perhaps an undeveloped sixth sense, a probe into the twilight of my existence, something……
